


We are the Quiet

by LunagaleMaster



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Also Jon and Daisy's friendship is really important to me and must be included, Background JonMartin like realllly background, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daisira, F/F, Look I wrote something SOFT, Many Things Left Unsaid, cleaning up wounds, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunagaleMaster/pseuds/LunagaleMaster
Summary: [Jm or daisira prompt: “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough"]"Daisy herself has no shame in scars, on others or herself... Soft skin meant easy lives, and nothing easy ever comes for free, especially in this world of monsters.But on Basira…well, Basira is different."Or Daisy takes care of Basira's injuries.





	We are the Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first AO3 TMA fic, but hopefully not the last. Didn't think I'd ever write Daisira, but here we are!
> 
> Warnings: Scars, talk about new and old wounds, lack of communication
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

Daisy tries not to look at Basira’s scars. **  
**

They’re a complicated matter as everything in their lives. Daisy herself has no shame in scars, on others or herself. In fact, if a person hasn’t racked up a good scar or two by something or another, she didn’t consider them living enough. Soft skin meant easy lives and nothing easy ever comes for free, especially in this world of monsters. 

But on Basira… well, Basira is different. Before the Buried, Daisy hunted for the rush, the fight, and the inevitable kill. However, Basira is Basira and Basira is hers, and the idea of anything damaging what’s hers makes her blood rush far louder than any monster prancing about. If Basira were to even feel a twitch of fear from someone or something, Daisy would be on them faster than a starving bear after hibernation. 

Which is why Daisy hates seeing Basira’s scars. It’s not that she isn’t proud that Basira knows how to defend herself, how to survive. It’s just this logic doesn’t stop the fierce protectiveness that fills in her mind when she sees the shiny scars that mar Basira’s skin.

Because scars at that point aren’t a sign of Basira’s success; no, they’re Daisy’s mistakes, Daisy’s inability to take care of the things that threaten to hurt them. It doesn’t matter how logical it is that Basira would have scars from times she worked in other sectioned jobs. It doesn’t matter that Daisy couldn’t have possibly protected Basira from every nick she’s gained between the Unknowing and now. It just… doesn’t matter. Every scar makes her grit her teeth, and even now, when she tries not to listen, the roar of blood is oh so tempting even if it means she doesn’t have to count any more shiny marks. 

But she’s made her choice. This isn’t just about Basira. Isn’t even about Daisy really. That’s the point. Even if it meant she’d fade into nothing but bone only the most desperate dogs would gnaw on, Daisy would not give into the Hunt. She would not hurt innocents for her own satisfaction. Not anymore. 

Her choice is harder to understand on days she has to take care of Basira’s wounds. 

They sit on the ground near the one of the more permanent beds the post-Unknowing crew set up. Antibiotics, numbing agents, and piles of bandages surround them, and their clinical smell almost drowns out the blood in the air. Basira refused to go to a hospital, and Daisy wasn’t going to make her. Hunters attack when their prey was their most vulnerable, and the smell of blood makes Basira easy to find within the medical halls. No, the Archives, for the evil it holds is their evil, and right now it at the very least offers some protection. 

Basira also refused Jon’s help. This Daisy found less wise, but the stony look on Basira’s face when she outright said she hadn’t wanted him here made it difficult to argue otherwise. 

(Daisy and Jon would not-talk about it later. They would share a few looks, both comforting and inquiring, and then after a few dancing glances he would offer this brittle smile that let her understand how deep his wounds cut. Despite not losing the world, neither technically won, and she’d wonders how long it would take until Jon would demand to see Martin safe instead of spending his days Knowing he’s upstairs, away from them on his own terms. They would share a space in a loud silence, not uncomfortable, but distracted nonetheless, until Jon would nod to the door. “She’s waiting for you,” he would say, “Have fun on your… date night,” and the awkward little grin he’d give would twist her heart. It’d be broken, but sincere, and it’d make her want to rip it off, in savagery or protection, she wouldn’t know. But she’d clap his shoulder, and a little smile of her own would sneak through when he nearly jumps out of his seat from the sheer force of it. Another look would be shared, but it’s different this time. They smile, and it feels real). 

The worst of it is over now. Basira’s stitched up and the bandages are more for pressure than anything. Bright white and practically glowing against Basira’s dark skin, they wrap around her torso in a tight but practiced pattern. It’s not professional, but Daisy does know what she’s doing. Now she’s just looking for the less pressing wounds. 

At least she’s trying to. She keeps getting distracted by the scars on Basira’s back. 

There aren’t many. Certainly not as many that Daisy has, but Basira took off her shirt to let her get the bandages right, and with only a bra in the way, there’s nothing to hide the vast expanse of little scars dancing from arm to arm and down the expanse of her back. Again, mostly nicks, and most of them look natural, but there’s one on her back that is definitely from a stab wound. A stab wound she doesn't recognize. 

Who patched her up then? Was it Martin before the Lonely? Or was it Melanie, angered filled and all? 

Did Basira have to do it herself? Was it always there and Basira just never told her? 

“Something the matter?” Basira asks, firmly, but not harshly. Daisy blinks, and she realizes she’s been tracing the outer edges of the largest scar. Well, formerly largest considering the new one. 

It’s easier to dwell on old scars, Daisy thinks. She could imagine pretend scenarios where she was able to save the day with a clinical eye. Strategy without emotion. Plans without context. Scars without impressions. 

As gently as she can, Daisy traces the upper part of the bandage. She’s barely touching the fabric, but Basira tenses immediately. Daisy stops. 

“I’m sorry,” she says automatically. She goes back to finding cuts. It’s easier. 

Basira doesn’t grant her that reprieve. She shifts, and while she doesn’t face Daisy, Basira puts less of her weight on Daisy's legs. “It’s fine. Now what’s the matter?”

Daisy pauses, considers the question, and decides no, she will not answer fully. There are too many things wrong to list when Basira’s like this. She’d be shocked that Basira is as coherent as she is, but not much can be a surprise these days. 

She can't mention anything big. Not the immediate dangers, but she knows Basira won’t be satisfied with the small ones either. 

Daisy doesn’t trace the bandages again, but she eyes them with a frown. “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough,” she says quietly. It’s at the hint of what they should be talking about. She can still feel the rush of panic, at seeing Trevor and Julia. At seeing them, with Basira, knives and jutted teeth, ready to tear, ready to hurt-

Daisy takes a breath and lets it out ever so slowly. Maybe if she breathes enough, her vision would stop going red.

“It’s fine,” Basira grunts our after some time, and both the silence and her tone tell Daisy perfectly well that no, this isn’t fine. Because of course it isn’t. 

They haven’t been fine in awhile. Daisy doesn’t even know if she’s ever been fine. 

Daisy doesn’t reply. Their conversations are left with too many words unsaid nowadays. It’s easy to stay within familiar territory. To pretend that no, they haven’t changed when they know damn well that everything is different. They pretend that they don’t talk with Jon about how exactly different they’ve become. They pretend to be Daisy And Basira because if they are just Daisy and just Basira, they would both be lost in their heads, following the call of rushing blood and endless trails. 

As long as both of them are alive, they’re Daisy And Basira, and so Daisy after cleaning up the last of the cuts, takes a moment to be just that. Careful not to touch her bandages, Daisy leans forward and presses against Basira’s back, wrapping her arms around her neck. 

Basira’s warm. So warm. Full of blood and life. Her warmth sleeps through Daisy’s chest and arms, and she can’t help but nuzzle into Basira’s neck for just a little bit. Just enough to feel her drumming pulse. It’s heavy, pumping faster than normal, and if it’s from her wounds or Daisy herself she can’t tell. She finds she doesn’t really care either, both bring a rush at the thought. 

Basira on her part is tense. Her breath catches. Even if Daisy can’t see her face, she can imagine the thousands of thoughts running through her mind. But Basira was never much of a planner. She has no strategy other than to act, and as tired and hurt as she is, it doesn’t take long for her to relax against Daisy’s hold and lean back until she’s practically in her lap. 

They’re quiet. Breathing. Basira takes Daisy’s hand and stares. Daisy wonders if she’s trying to count the bones that seem to jut out against her sickly skin. Basira holds it carefully and takes a considering look. 

She guides Daisy’s hand to her lips, and presses gently. A kiss. It’s just as warm as the rest of her, just as soft, but so much more anyway. It’s feather-like and faint, almost not there, but it makes Daisy catch her breath because this is hers. The kiss, the affection, all hers, all from Basira. 

Even as Basira guides their hands away, Daisy doesn’t breath, too busy trying to memorize the way Basira’s lips moved against her skin and how the warmth blossomed under the single touch in a way far more fitting of her name than she’d ever be. 

She only breathes when Basira intertwines their fingers. Hers look so small in Basira’s hand. Too pale. Too gone. But if Basira notices or cares, she doesn’t give an inclination. She just rests their hands against her chest and gently dusts her thumb across the top of Daisy’s hand. It’s calloused, and there shouldn’t be an affection in them. But it’s Basira, and her palms are warm, and the callousness are not like scars. They’re not signs of a fight, but show dedication in a way that scars can’t. Years of practice can be known just from one look at her rough fingers. 

Dedicated is a good word for Basira. And so callouses fit her. They make Daisy smile.

She buries her smile in Basira’s neck. She hears her huff in response. It’s a pleased huff though, and it only makes her hidden smile go wider.

They will need to move soon. Basira needs to rest, and the floor is never a good place to settle after getting stab wounds. There will be talks and discussions, and many things left unsaid in them, and the world will probably crash around them again. 

For now, they hold on another, feeling each other’s warmth, their life, their forms, and just letting themselves be Basira And Daisy instead of be thousand other people they probably are at the moment. Scars are hidden from Daisy’s view and Basira can’t mistake being weak for being dead. 

Here, there are no monsters. There is no apocalypse. The horrors of their world can wait another moment. For now, they are just simply them.

And it is quiet. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Tell me what you liked, tell me what you disliked, tell me something weird if you'd like to! My main tumblr is lunagalemaster, but my TMA blog is thevoidcannotbefilled, so if you'd like to chat or yell or whatever, feel free to hit me up. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you have a nice day, night, or whatever, and I hope to see you next time! Byyyyye~
> 
> ~Lunagalemaster


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